Double trouble
by silver moon droplet
Summary: ¤ » fredgeorge: when all else fails, blame Ron, and when that fails — prepare for an earload of impact.


Arthur Weasley had a rough day at the office, resting in his favorite chair he decided to take a nap. What he didn't know was that his wondrous twins, Fred and George, were very bored. When the two eight year old boys were bored, they often got into things; such as their mother's makeup bag. Watching their father fall asleep soundly, an idea embraced the young lads; they crept silently up the stairs into their parents' room.

"Didya get it?" George asked his brother, whom was standing on his back. Fred was using George as a foot stool, so he could reach their mother's dresser.

"Yup!" laughed Fred.

"Get off then!"

Fred jumped off his brother and then he helped him up, George brushed off his knees. "Let's go my good lad."

"Well if you insist," he said, pulling his best snob accent to match George's. They tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where their next victim was asleep in his chair; blatantly unaware of their actives. They both sat on an arm of the chair, carefully avoiding Arthur's hands, placing them on his legs. They both grinned, putting on their doctors mask; which Arthur had once brought home for them, they got to work.

"Blush." Fred said, as if he were a doctor performing surgery.

"Blush," George replied, as he handed the feminine product to his brother.

This proceeded through the whole operation, until they were finished; they admired their handy work. "We'd make great doctors, aye George?"

"Aye Fred; making the old and ugly" he snickered, "an utterly hilarious sight one father at a time."

"So what are we going to do when he wakes up?" Fred asked.

They both thought on this for a moment, although as much as they would like to take credit for their beautiful work; they valued their hearing far too much to get yelled at for it.

"Blame Ron," they said simultaneously, a smirk on their faces.

They ran upstairs, placing the incriminating evidence on Ron's bed and went outside to play Qudditch.

"Arthur, darling." Molly called, once she had returned from the market, Ron and Ginny running in behind her.

"Mum!" called the youngest red head. "Ron hit me!"

"Tattle tail!" Ron cried indignantly.

"Ronald, don't hit your sister!"

"She deserved it! She said that the Chuddley Canons were the worst team in the league!"

"I'm right; everyone knows that—what's Daddy got on his face?"

"Oh….Arthur…" Molly said.

Arthur was awoken from his sleep by the laughter of his two youngest children. He was a sight to see, covered with: blush, lipstick, eyeliner, mascara and Merlin only knows what else!

"Daddy looks like a girl!" Ginny squealed, between giggles.

"Wha—" Arthur caught a glimpse of himself in one of the knick-knacks in the Weasley home, he looked at himself in horror. "FRED! GEORGE! GET IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Ron did it, Dad!" called one of the boys from outside.

"We tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen—"

"Bloody mad that boy."

"Mum! Fred called me bloody mad!"

"I'm not Fred, he is—can't you tell us apart?"

"Honestly, you call yourself family."

"Sorry, George."

"Just kidding Ron, I really am Fred."

"Boys…" Molly warned and they both fell silent. "Ronald and Ginny were with me at the market, no where near your father or my handbag."

"Well Bloody, Ron can do magic—"

"Being in two places at once! Isn't that brilliant George?"

"Aye, we better call Aunt Muriel—"

"We'll get right on that!"

"Bye Mum—"

"Hold it!" she shouted, tapping her foot. "Your punishment…"

"But Mum…" they groaned.

"No buts, boys—to your room."

"Kill our dreams of being a doctor—"

"Crushed, dead; you're supposed to be supportive of these things!"

"Room. Now."

"Yes Mum…" Fred and George headed upstairs, heads still high.

"What are we going to do with those two?" Arthur said loudly, shaking his head.

"I don't know, but Arthur. . . ."

"Yes Molly?"

"That pink, isn't your color."

She left him to get cleaned up, as she returned to the kitchen to begin dinner.

**--le fin **


End file.
